


pas de deux

by glorious_clio



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, MayThe4th Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: After spending all day in the cockpit, and with one more chore to complete, Hera Syndulla feels the urge to move. But even a simple moment can come with a hangup or two. Luckily, she has a supportive partner.Set anytime before the end of season 2.





	pas de deux

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d, and my first attempt at Hera and Kanan. I hope you enjoy it! May the 4th be with you!

It’s her turn to make dinner, a chore she doesn't excel at. But tonight she falls into a pattern, a rhythm, the sizzling in the pan seemed to contribute, as does the knife on the cutting board. Chopping vegetables, browning protein pellets, mashing starches together. It’s not unusual for her to play music to make it a little more enjoyable, generally picking up a local broadcast frequency. All the same, Captain Hera Syndulla is not quite sure how this started.

She’s never heard this pop song before, but the thing about pop songs is, they’re pretty universal. You don’t need to know the lyrics to know how they work; verse, refrain, verse, refrain, bridge, refrain. Two and a half minutes at a steady tempo in four/four time. Anyone can work out the pattern, and for a twi’lek, well. Sometimes it gets under her skin.

Her lekku start pulsing, searching for a polyrhythm to compliment the song. She starts tapping her heel to the actual beat, and then, pouring the veggies in with the protein, she starts to rock her hips, shimmying her shoulders so her lekku fall down her back instead of over her shoulders, and she snaps her hip with the beat that pauses for emphasis. The melody breaks and she takes a breath, then when the melody picks up again, she crosses her feet and spins around, spoon waving. Back at the pan, she gives the food a quick stir, then covers it.

She slides back to the starch, coming together now to look like mashed potatoes. She stirs it again, salts it so it doesn’t taste so bland. Tosses in some nerf butter. What the hell, right? She’s almost done, can almost throw everything in the oven.

Hera pulls out a big glass dish as the song changes, dumps her veg and protein mess in, covers it with some leftover gravy that Kanan made two nights ago, and then the starches on top with a little pepper to get brown and crispy. She slides it all in the oven and sets the dirty dishes in the sink full of hot water to soak.

And then she takes off her boots, which provide too much friction. Yes, Hera wants to dance. She’s been in the _Ghost’s_ cockpit all day. She loves flying, but sitting in one position all day is hard, and now all of her wants to move. She’s never mastered this, but she loves it. Growing up on Ryloth means growing up dancing.

(This is a complicated relationship once the rest of the galaxy figures in, but for now Hera is alone in the galley. There’s no audience, no recording devices, she’s safe from exploitation. This is her _kriffing_ ship.)

Her socks slide on the deck and she pirouettes on the spot, whipping around three times, her lekku twirling around her. The pop songs continue their patterns and she follows them, the melody and the insipid lyrics -- _yeah yeah, no no, take me to the stars_ \-- _._ Her head rolls back and her hips come forward. She shimmies, bends her knees, brings up right leg in a _développé_ , and then leans back. She’s found her balance and her lekku brush against the floor, her airborne toes in a perfect point. She floats her arms back and down, then flips herself over so she’s back on her feet. Stars blink behind her eyelids. _Haven’t done that in awhile._ She just shifts her feet in a pattern for a moment until her head clears, then spins again on the key change, always her favorite.

Her muscles warm and even relax with her movements, shoulders are down and neck is long. The song changes and she changes her style, this song is faster and she rolls her hips to the tempo, her arms a beautiful arc around her, her lekku swaying. Every inch of her stretches out, a display of power, strength, flexibility.

She’s pure movement, energy, her brain has shut off almost completely as her body takes over. It’s like breathing, flying. It’s almost like sex-

And as soon as she thinks that, her eyes catch Kanan framed by the hatch of the galley, almost as if she’s conjured him. She stills.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, admiration clear in his voice. He’s leaning comfortably against the jamb, smiling encouragingly.

She straightens her legs, crosses her arms in front of her, curses herself for taking off her boots.

“I didn’t know you were watching.” She’s breathing a little heavy, her blood is singing in her veins, there’s a sheen of sweat on her skin. The top two buttons of her flight suit are undone, when had she done that?

“I only caught the end,” he says, also straightening. They just look at each other for a long moment and his easy smile fades. He taps his fingers against his thigh, a gesture of uncertainty.

She can trust him. Has trusted him. They are lovers, he’s seen her far more vulnerable than this, spread out underneath him while he drives her to distraction. But dancing for a human, especially when she didn’t know he was watching, it feels.....  She shouldn’t have left the hatch open.

The music is still thrumming through the room.

“You don’t have to dance if you don’t want an audience,” he tries to assure her.

“I just...”

“I know,” he says and she believes him. “It’s just nice to see you so joyful.”

Kanan is her first human lover, and she believes him when he says he’ll never exploit her, never knowingly hurt her. They don’t take dirty pictures of themselves, no holosex, no evidence. They both know the stereotypes about twi’leks, how much they are worth in the slave trade, how the porn holos fetch high prices. She’s never, ever danced for anyone off of Ryloth before.

“And, it’s good training for fighting,” he says mildly as the music changes, something bouncy, bubbly. He steps into the galley and kneels down to take off his boots.

“I’ve heard that,” she replies. Her arms are still crossed in front of her. _Relax_ , she thinks, _it’s Kanan_. She uncrosses them, then puts her hands on her hips, arms akimbo. She spreads her feet a little bit apart, looking for a sturdy stance.

He pops up, and offers her a grin.

He doesn’t close the hatch, leaving the exit open should she wish to take it.

And then, _he_ starts to dance.  

He’s not great at it, he looks stiff and sometimes he can’t quite make his body flow with the beat of the song -- _oh oh, baby baby, never leave me, no no--_. It looks like Jedi forms, and she just watches as he tries. He winks at her a few times, does a strange thing with his arms that looks like he’s plucking fruit and putting it in a basket. Maybe this was how humans danced. His hips hardly move, his shoulders never shimmy, his core remains absolutely boxed in.

But he’s trying. His knees are bent, his arms are long, and his movements are graceful and it looks pretty convincing when he manages to stay on the beat.

“Rock your hips,” she tells him.

He does, and it looks hilarious. How can he be a perfect lover and an awkward dancer? He waggles his eyebrows. _Flirt_.

She shakes her head and brushes past him. He turns to follow her, and he stops dancing, thinking she’s about to leave the galley. Instead she shuts the hatch and turns back to Kanan.

Neither of them move for a few counts, but both of their eyes dance over each other, sizing each other up.

The song changes again, a little slower now, but still effervescent. There’s something gritty about the baseline of it that just grooves.

She steps closer and places her hands on his hips now. Leaning up, she whispers in his ear, “Like this.”

And they dance.

He follows her (he’ll follow her anywhere, he’s told her again and again) and she turns in his arms. He catches her hands in his sometimes, to twirl her. He dips her twice, trying to make her dizzy. It won’t work, but she lets him try. She teaches him some pretty basic step patterns, tells him to pick up his feet, keep his weight on the balls of his toes instead of his heels. He doesn’t have lekku, he’ll never look as graceful as her, but she reaches up and pulls the band out of his soft brown hair. He gently palms her own lekku, and she shivers. The song is so good and she tries to remember the lyrics so she can look it up later, but the words are so generic they slip away -- _it’s fate, baby, oh oh, you do something to me--._ She spins again, bringing her back to his chest and lightly rolls her hips back to crash into his.

This, now, Kanan’s good at. They’ve had lots of practice. He can match his hips to hers in any rhythm and she leans back into him, and then forward. He follows and follows. She spins out again and lifts an eyebrow.

He continues rolling her hips like she taught him and it looks so much better.

She steps back into her arms, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Just like that,” she says. She can feel her own joy, what drew him to the galley in the first place.

She thinks she can see his joy too. Or delight as she runs her hands down his strong arms. His hands tighten on her waist, warm even through the flight suit. She pushes herself up on her toes and nuzzles his neck.

“You’re perfect.”

“You’re a good teacher,” he says, redirecting her praise.

She pulls away and catches his eye, blue blue, so very blue. The admiration that showed earlier is back and multiplied.

He surely felt her discomfort at being caught dancing, and then made himself vulnerable. Now, dancing on the deck, trying to avoid the many obstacles in the galley, they’re back to normal. They found an equilibrium, a rhythm. A dance.

“Stars, I love you,” she confesses quietly.

Kanan dips his head to kiss her and they stop dancing. She runs his fingers up to his hair again, damp at the roots now, but silky smooth.

The oven timer goes off.

“I love you too,” he says breaking the kiss. And it’s not at all uncomfortable. Not the first time they’ve said it, but with practice, it’s become less tentative.

Perhaps that’s how the dancing will feel.

“Go get the others,” Hera says stepping out of the circle of his arms. “And if you come to my cabin tonight, I’ll teach you a few other moves.” She bites her lip.

He nods slowly, hunger plain on his face. When she blushes, he ducks to pick up his boots and pull them on. She pulls on hers too, tucks her flight suit into them. She turns back to the oven as he opens the hatch, redoing his hair as he goes.

And dammit if dinner doesn’t look actually appetizing. She smiles again. She’s not sure how this began; dinner, dancing, a relationship with a human. Hera can hear Ezra, Zeb, and Sabine stomping down the corridor and bickering like siblings. She leans over to shut the radio off with a click, right in the middle of the refrain.

She and Kanan will pick up the coda later.


End file.
